Mother/Nonnie

July 13th was my Mother's birthday. She was Marguerite Marie Montgomery, born in 1904. A sweet, beautiful girl, she was Dolly and Ross's first daughter, second child. Although the family was poor, they loved poetry and music. Mother said her father (my Grandpa) taught them all to dance when they were little. I remember going to family reunions in Illinois. We always gathered in someone's basement (usually Aunt Ann and Uncle Carl's-Mother's older brother and my favorite uncle). There were tubs filled with ice and bottles of home-made root beer and no one counted how many you drank. About 10:00 in the evening, Grandpa would call out "Virginia Reel." We'd line up in two rows, facing one another. Those too little to stand were held by loving parents. The music started and we danced!

One of my favorite memories of Mother was from a time when I was in Kindergarten. Mother and Daddy were co-presidents of the Parent-Teacher-Association. They decided to do a show. Our house was the center of activities and I remember a lot of bustling about in our dining room. Mother made a gingham dress for herself with a full skirt and ruffled petticoat that peeked out under the hem of the dress. She braided her heavy hair with wire, tied huge ribbons on the ends, and curled them so they stood out on either side. With eyebrow pencil she gave herself freckles and then blackened one of her front teeth. Her shoes were leather high-tops, and the black stockings sagged and one had a hole in the knee. She was adorable! Daddy dressed in huge overalls and wore a red fright wig. The only part of the show I remember is Mother singing "In the Little Red Schoolhouse." I still remember the words--or most of them.

Verse #1: (*s are notes --missing words) In the little red schoolhouse with my book and slate. In the little red schoolhouse where I was always late. I remember ****in those days of yore. How we'd stand right up and holler "Two and two are four." When we shoulda been learnin' about the golden rule, our little hearts were yearnin' for the swimmin' pool. We could hardly wait for the four o'clock bell. The minute we would hear it we would run like MAD! O, gee! I wanna be--in the little red schoolhouse.

Bridge: Ten o'clock the spelling lesson's just begun. Johnny throws an ink ball just for fun. Hits the teacher's back with an awful SPLAT! Teacher turns around and says "Who did that?" Little purty Percy in the very front row, raises up his hand and says, "Teacher I know." Little Johnny whispers to the teacher's pride, "You just wait 'til I get you outside." Johnny's told to stand with his face to the wall. He says, "I don't wanna," and he starts to bawl. "If I turn around I take an awful chance, I've got a great big hole in the seat of my pants." O, gee! I wanna be--in the little red schoolhouse.

I don't remember ever again hearing Mother sing, but she was a big hit that evening.

Mother only completed the eighth grade as girls in those days were not encouraged to get an education, but she was smart, clever, and so talented. She could make anything with needle and thread. My sister Mary Ann and I were the best dressed girls in school. She knitted up a storm. I often came home to find her in her sewing room with a page from the "Mademoiselle" magazine. She'd point to a picture and if I liked it, she made it for me. She designed and made my wedding gown. She not only sewed, she made hats, felt and feathered. She taught all her sisters and sisters-in-law to make cloches from quail and pheasant feathers. They were beautiful. She won ribbons at contests with her applique and embroidery. She was also something of a mystery. Although I was her confidante, she was quiet about herself and didn't reveal many personal issues. People rarely did in those days. After all, she'd gone through WWI, a great depression, and another World War. I think she was lonely and missed her brothers and sisters. I also know that those grey months of January, February, and March in central Wisconsin were hard on her. There was no understanding of that dreaded illness Depression.

I know she loved me. She once told me she'd have breathed my every breath, but Daddy wouldn't allow it. She adored her grandchildren. We have been truly blessed.

I miss her. When I think of my Mother, of our Nonnie, I know we have all been truly blessed.